


Songbird

by ceryss



Series: A Flower Crown [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 08:42:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceryss/pseuds/ceryss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Festival of the Seven has come to King's Landing </p><p>(Eleven year old Sansa)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Songbird

The festival was three days going, and the eleven year-old princess had not tired of it in the slightest.

Sandor was tugged along each day by the giggling girl to the streets of King’s Landing to enjoy the Festival of the Seven. For seven days each year, King’s Landing became a hub for travelers from the free cities, intent on selling and bartering their goods away. For seven nights, hundreds of lights lit up the city and the darkness was consumed by music and dance. The pounding of feet and the singing in a hundred different languages filled the air with sweet sounds. In the free cities the festival was in celebration of the Lord of Light, but as most of the smallfolk held to the new gods, in the capital the party was for the Seven. Which gods were in question did not matter to Sandor -- the joy-filled Princess was the only deity he aspired to please.

Once again, he followed the girl closely as she darted from vendor to vendor, an awe-filled expression alight on her features. Wherever she went, the masses parted for her, like a stream splitting for a rock. The foreigners and Westerosi alike smiled and pointed as she went by, offering praises and wishes for her health, and the health of her father. Princess Sansa responded with glee at their adoration and often Sandor had to drag her away lest she give away the own gown on her back to needy children. Each seller had something new to give her: beautiful lace gowns from Myr, perfumes from Lys, a delicate gold chain from Braavos. Yes, Sansa was well on her way to charming the entirety of the free cities out of their goods, and they gave it willingly, only hoping to win her favor.

By the third day she had already acquired a pile of gifts that were stacked in the corner of her bedchamber.

“Look, Sandor!” His little bird ran up to him and yanked on his hand, pulling him over to an elaborate red tent.

She slipped inside, and he ducked to follow. The inside was lit by dozens of candles and the smell of incense was so strong Sandor’s eyes began to sting. But the focus of the princess’s attention was on the many gilded cages hung around the room. Inside each were brightly colored birds, red, blue, pink, yellow, all beautifully feathered.

They chirped at Sansa and the woman who minded them smiled at the princess’s attention. Sandor chuckled. “A little bird for a little bird, is that the way of it?”

 _“Little bird,”_ the red one parroted. _“Little bird.”_

Finding this absurdly funny, Princess Sansa giggled and covered her mouth with her hands in delight. The candles flickered off of her shiny crimson hair which was tied back with a head scarf from Pentos that she had received the night before.

The tent owner smiled, her teeth alarmingly white against her black skin. “My Princess Sansa, you are as beautiful as the sunset; the tales simply do not do you justice.” The dark woman who owned the birds had no qualms complimenting Sansa incessantly, and it was not surprising to Sandor in the slightest when she insisted on the darling princess picking her choice of the flock.

So the pair returned to music-filled streets with a singing blue bird settled on the girl’s shoulder.

“I like the way she said my name,” the little bird commented as she fed her new pet corn from an open palm. “Her accent made it pretty, like the singers in the square. I think you should say it like that woman did.”

The sworn shield rasped a laugh at that, keeping close to the princess as the crowds grew denser. “How did she say it then?” “She said it like _Son_ -sa. You say it like Sansa, with the ‘san’ rhyming with man.”

“Sansa.”

“ _Son_ -sa!”

“Sansa.”

She stuck out her lip. “ _Sonsa_ ,” she repeated. “The ‘son’ rhymes with bone. Say it again.”

Stubbornly, and wishing to irritate her, Sandor paused and then said, “Sansa.”

“Oh!” The girl threw her hands up in the air in exasperation, startling the bird which chirped and fluttered its wings in surprise. “No need to get worked up now,” Sandor teased with a smirk. “I like the way I say your name. Besides, I’m not going to pretend I’m from the Summer Islands just to please your ears, girl.”

 _“Girl!”_ The bird squawked.

The girl opened her mouth to reprimand him further, but he saw her blue eyes widen in awe and turned to follow her gaze. In the main square of King’s Landing, there were innumerable dancers, twirling and leaping to the rhythmic pounding of steel drums and the trilling of horns. Sandor was sure that this was a scene straight out of the fantasies that played over and over in the girls mind, but to him it only served to make him more wary: just a larger crowd to shield the unsuspecting princess from.

Immediately, she tried to tug him toward the flurry of excitement. “Dance with me!” She implored.

His answer was firm. “No.”

Not only did he not want the princess disappearing into the drunken mass, Sandor was about as skilled at dancing as he was at singing, which is to say he was terrible. He knew the little bird would not mind his lack of talent, but frankly he could do without the extra stares. Most everyone in the keep was used to his face by now, and at least had the decency not to stare. Yet it seemed the foreigners all wanted a glance of the Hound’s terrifying appearance -- he felt the heavy glares every moment he spent in the festival.

“Please, Sandor!” She begged, head tipped up and eyes wide. “Please!”

The blue bird mocked, _“Please!”_

When he frowned and shook his head, she asked, “You would not leave me to dance by myself would you?”

“No dancing.” Sandor said. “Too many rats about looking to grab you.”

The little bird regarded him for a moment and then glanced back at the spinning dancers. She wrung her hands and seemed to be debating with herself. He saw what she was planning to do, but he was too late.

Before he could reach out to snatch her close, Princess Sansa had turned and fled into the crowd, no doubt with the intention to find a proper dancing partner.

With a roar of her name, Sandor dove into the masses after her. _She has to be right around here_ , he told himself as panic began to rise. _She can’t have gotten far, her legs are as big as my forearms for Gods sake_.

Yet there was not a flash of red hair to be seen. The smallfolk swarmed around him, giggling with mirk and drink. Bodies were swirling with the beat of the song, lost in their own rhythm. For any that got in his way, Sandor knocked them unceremoniously to the ground, eyes scanning everywhere for his little bird. Shouts of displeasure rose around him at his intrusion but he paid them no mind. Minutes passed with no result.

He was hesitant to call her name, if some bastard heard that the princess was unattended the consequences could be deadly. So he pushed through the crowd, ignoring the dread manifesting in his gut. Sandor tried not to picture what could’ve happened to her, tried not to see greedy hands harming his little bird, tried to smother the blatant _fear_ he felt.

 _I’ll wring her pretty neck for this stunt. I swear I’ll kill her if she’s not dead already_.

Finally, he saw a sign of guidance. The blue songbird was circling above the crowd not far off.

Sandor jostled his way toward the point the bird was circling until blessedly he caught sight of her flaming head. Princess Sansa and the young boy she had claimed as her partner had attracted their own admirers, a loose circle of men and women around them, clapping as the pair danced to a lively tune. For a moment, Sandor lost his rage and panic. Princess Sansa was shoeless, and had her plum-colored skirts pulled up in one hand, allowing her legs the mobility necessary for the foreign dance. Her hair glimmered crimson and her white skin seemed to glow in comparison to the black boy she danced with. The crowds around her seemed dirty and utterly _less_ than what she was. The boy looked at her like she was a dream and he had the honor of living in it for a brief moment. Sansa’s face was alight with joy, and Sandor was struck with just how _beautiful_ the young princess was.

It was a short-lived moment.

With a growl the sworn shied stepped forward into the circle and yanked the Summer Islander away from his princess, not caring in the slightest when he cried out from the ground. Ignoring his princess’s objections, Sandor slung the girl, whose feet were blackened from the dirt, over his shoulder and back towards the Red Keep. On his other shoulder, the blue songbird made its perch.

So it was with two little birds on either shoulder that Sandor returned to the castle.

 

 

Princess Sansa was still moping when he set her down in front of her own chamber door.

_Bloody lucky I didn’t tell her kingly father about her foolish stunt._

They stared at each other for a long while, the hallway lit only by the dying torches. The blue bird was back on Sansa’s shoulder and pecked lightly at her collar, but the princess paid it no mind.

Finally, Sandor broke the tense stare down. “You will never do that again. You will not run off without me, _ever_. Do you understand? Did you even think of what could have happened to you? Did it ever cross your _fucking innocent mind_ what those men would do to you if they found you wandering around alone?”

Stubbornly the little bird stuck out her lip and shifted her attention to the floor, not meeting his eyes. “Look at me, damn it Sansa!” He was yelling now, but he found he could not help himself. The images of what could have happened were replaying in his mind, each possible situation worse than the last. “Were you even thinking?”

She looked up then, a single tear rolling down her cheek which she wiped away with her sleeve. A terrible guilt came over Sandor then, but he was determined to make her see the truth. “The world isn’t a big bloody song little bird, and you need to realize it.”

She nodded then and peaked at him shyly. “Sorry, Sandor. I promise I won’t do it again.”

He sighed heavily, wanting to pursue the subject, to make her _see_ , but he was willing to let her go to sleep. “Fine. Get some sleep... _Sonsa_.”

She grinned at his poorly attempted accent and then shook her head. “I’ve changed my mind. I like the way you say it the best.”

The door shut softly and Sandor retreated to his own room, thoughts filled with songbirds.

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, another one done. I think I’m going to write three more...? Hopefully!
> 
> Thank you all tremendously for the kind words, I’m so glad so many people find this cute! :)


End file.
